


discoloration.

by professionalcinderella



Category: Mystic Messenger (Video Game)
Genre: 707 | Luciel Choi's Real Name, Angst, F/M, Reader Is Not Main Character (Mystic Messenger), barely proofread we die like men, idk what's going on, welp good fucking luck pals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-23
Updated: 2017-08-23
Packaged: 2018-12-18 21:44:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11883435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/professionalcinderella/pseuds/professionalcinderella
Summary: He loved her, and sometimes she loved him too.





	discoloration.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kiserusmoke](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiserusmoke/gifts).



Yoosung always finds solace in children’s parks. They were echoed joyous screams into clouds with maternal smiles etched into sanded-down crevices, and if he thought long enough he could remember his mother’s laughter from years ago. This time wasn’t much different, he sits in the park to remember whatever memories he could, strangely wishing he could go back.

He doesn’t want to go back for nap times or fresh packed lunches, though. He wants to go back to forget her, her and him, him and her, his lips about to touch hers, everything had always gone back to her—

He realizes he has to stop himself before he starts yelling again. A cracked digital screen tells him the time is 3:26 AM and that he’s been in the park for approximately two and a half hours. A hand was halfway able to rub his eye before he feels a painful sensation from his cheek. He nearly forgot about how bruised his cheek is, or how there’s dried blood on his forehead.

There’s a part of him—the reasonable part—that tells him he needs to get home and call it a night. However, another part warred furiously within him, asking more than needed when he had nothing else to offer. It’s that part that causes him to be where he is now, with emptied cans of beer next to him.

He wishes things were  _ different _ . His thoughts weren’t even his anymore, not when he thought about her that much. There’s a moment of pause in drunken stupor that he wonders where it all went wrong—really went wrong—for him to end up there at the moment. 

Resignation comes in the form of him laying down a children’s structure and looking towards the stars for some kind of answer. He feels like a kind of cosmic joke, with the name of a star and his capabilities falling short of being one.

_ It’s not going to be you _ , he thinks bitterly. And of course, it wasn’t. There was always going to be something about Saeyoung that was inherently better—improved—because he was a genius even if his life was falling apart, even if all he did was eat trash he remained in top shape, and because of a million other reasons Yoosung could list if you asked him to. 

All of Yoosung’s flaws scatter around him like old photographs of memories he doesn’t want to remember. As much as he hates the memories, it never stop him from looking at them and hating himself even more for it. He wishes he was more, not simply the shell of a person he used to be.

It’s all he thinks about before the energy inside of him dissipates entirely, leaving him with nothing but painful memories and an even more painful bruise on his face. He falls into a dreamless sleep; one that didn’t feel like sleep at all, yet time got lost all the same. For now, it was the best he would get.

When he wakes up the next morning, a headache and his phone alarm going off is the first to greet him. His phone indicates alarmingly that it was seven o’clock, or to be more specific, 7:07 AM. Yoosung scoffs incredulously. 

The walk back to his dorm is as bad as it can be with a hangover and a blossoming bruise that obscures vision from his left eye. And while he stares at his smoky breaths that curl and fade into nothingness, he considers what had just occurred in the past twelve hours; his intoxication is no longer there to defend him anymore.

When he thinks about Saeyoung, he no longer thinks of comical wigs and chocolate milk and fiery red hair. Instead, he thinks about the violent swing of his fist and the fire that encompassed itself in his eyes instead of his hair. 

He has to pause his thoughts as he feels bile in his throat rising, and the memories are pushed away further. His brain isn’t mentally prepared to process everything yet, not with the faint pounding that resounds in the back of his skull as a gentle reminder. 

There’s a shrill ring that resonates in the air momentarily—he has to think through the headache to remember it’s his ringtone—before he pulls his phone out of his pocket to check who it was. 

He pauses. The street pauses and the world pauses with him, a white noise static filling the gaps of his brain while he registers if he’s seeing things right.  _ It’s her _ .

He doesn’t hesitate to pick up. It’s her familiar and gentle breaths over the receiver that confirms it’s her, and his heart blares in his chest all the same. The sound, as little as it was, soothes him, suddenly melting away the fatigue from his features.

Just for a little bit, he wants to pretend that she’s his. He wants to pretend that she’s going to tell him good morning and if they’re meeting up for sandwiches at the overpriced shop they always go to, as if she can ever love him as much as he loves her. He loves her, he knows this, and sometimes he hoped she loved him too.

“Hey… are you okay?” Her voice is smaller over the phone; he wonders why. The wind is enough to overpower most of her voice, and suddenly he feels his throat catching as he tries to reply to her.

“Yeah. I’m alright, I guess.” Yoosung remembers the metallic taste in his mouth and it’s as if he’s being hit again. He doesn’t say anything more, and an uncomfortable silence hangs between the two that makes Yoosung walk a little faster.

It feels endless as he makes an effort to step on the dried leaves that blanket the sidewalk, so he focuses on that instead of the lingering feeling that makes his fingers shake. She breaks the silence first, before he can think of anything to say. “I think we should talk.” 

“Okay. Meet me at the college cafe.” 

There’s a pause at the other end of the line again, and for a second he thinks she’s going to say no. His chest constricts at the possibility alone.

“I’ll be there in thirty.”

“Okay.”

The short and strained conversation leaves Yoosung somewhat disappointed. Although he isn’t sure what he expected to begin with, it still leaves him hollow, somehow. 

The cafe isn’t a far walk from where he’s at. It’s a quaint store that overflowed with memories in every corner and fissure, mostly of her and of the laughter they shared. Even if they were tattered memories, he wears them now in the form of weary eyes and a rickety chest. 

It’s easy to make a home in the past when nothing ahead seems desirable, and it’s not an unfamiliar feeling to him; he’s done it before with somebody else that was special to him.

When he arrives, he can’t help but recount the memories in fragments as he notices the familiar aroma of coffee and the lowly-lit lights that were always overpowered by the sunlight outside. 

“They make the best coffee here.” She had told him once during the spring. She sat before him with her elbows on the table and hands clasped around the cup.

“Does that mean my coffee is only subpar in comparison?” Her laughter was always wind chimes and bells to him. Mock offense scribbled itself onto his features when he sat back with his arms crossed.

“No, not at all! To be fair though, you were only in that coffee brewing class for a week.” 

“ _ Right _ , my coffee may be below average but my latte art was amazing.” Yoosung’s fake defense melted away into smiles and shared laughter. It was always so easy with her.

“Yes, Yoosung. Picasso is absolutely shaking in his boots.” 

“Thank you, thank you.” They had always seemed so above it all, as if they were something more than just stumbling students at college. With her, he felt like he was more. There was more meaning to life, there was a brighter day and a reason to keep going, and it was as if everything after Rika and before her was simply filler space.

His thoughts don’t let his sentiment survive, however. It takes the familiar ring of chimes from the door to avert his attention towards the patron. He turns so fast he can feel his balance tilt and falter, the hooks of his hangover fastening against the base of his skull.

_ It’s her _ , he thinks through the dizziness. He’s suddenly very aware of every flaw to himself when he sees the way her lips thin at the sight of him. He was still wearing the same shirt from last night, bloody collar and all. The bruise he was sporting had blossomed into a bright purple and red, and his disheveled hair was far from an effortless beauty. She frowns, and he wonders if he really does look that bad. 

“Hi.” His voice is a silent croak when he meets her gaze and drops it only moments after. He felt shameful, partially because of the way he looks, and partially because of his vague recollection of last night.

“Hey. Uhm, do you… want anything?” The hesitancy that leaks from her voice is what softens his heart, and he knows he would give up anything to demolish the awkwardness that fills the space between them.

“It’s fine, we should sit down.” Mumbles hardly make it past grit teeth when he takes a seat from across her.

Yoosung wants desperately for this to be gone. He wants to destroy the awkwardness, the deafening silence, the way he has to calculate all the words he wants to say before it comes out of his mouth, everything he can about the situation they’ve been placed in. It’s not like he can blame her, though. When he began his relationship with her, he never thought they’d end up where they were, an odd outlier that was never dating nor not dating. They were an almost, a maybe, a possibly. 

And he knows he can’t keep pushing away the memories that are too painful for him to remember. That same unreasonable part of him from last night tells him that if he can bury it, pretend it never happened, he can get away with minimal damage to himself. Getting over it was too hard and forgetting was a much more appealing option. 

Even if he does that, though, he still gets hurt in the end like he always does—and he hurts her even more. If it isn’t going to be for himself, it should be for her. That way, maybe somehow he can fix whatever had come between them. 

**Author's Note:**

> Funny enough, I finished this fic and didn't have a title for it. I wanted this out by seven o'clock and the title was decided at 7:07 (Thanks to Shauna), which is also mentioned in the work. I hope you guys liked this or felt something with it, it's still a new thing for me to be writing Yoosung in full... I'm pretty sure this is my first work with someone besides Jumin or V, which is funny to me. Please leave a kudos or a comment if you liked this, it really means a lot and motivates me to write more!


End file.
